The Weak Side
by Beyond-BB-Birthday
Summary: It's nothing more than what you see. Because if it were, he could never live with himself. Draco/Harry.


"_I hate you."_ Draco repeats it both orally and internally countless times. It's not because it's true, because they both know it isn't. It's because he has to say it. If he doesn't, then this is more than carnal pleasure. If he doesn't tell him he hates him, then it's not hate sex.

Harry never says it back, he never needs to. He knows what this is. Draco has to try to convince himself of it.

The Gryffindor was currently bent over the Slytherin's bed, Malfoy's hand against the back of Harry's neck. He pressed his hard-on against his ass, daring himself to say something. He decides against it like he always does and he enters him slowly, letting a groan of bliss fall from his tongue.

"_It never gets any easier," _Draco thinks to himself. He tries to tell himself that this is all they'll ever be. But it doesn't help to convince him that this is all he _wants_ them to ever be.

Draco is moving inside him, Harry moaning against the bed. His hands are braced against it as if it could save him from a hurricane if it came to it. The blonde desperately stifles his own noises for fear that he'll slip up, that he'll say something he doesn't mean. Or even worse, something he _does_ mean.

They kiss once, maybe twice every time. _"It doesn't mean a thing, it's just a factor of sex,"_ he tells himself. He does everything in his power to keep things simple, to not over-analyze things, but it seems impossible whenever they're together.

He snaps back to reality, where Harry is tightening around him and he can't help forcing his eyes shut and moaning shamelessly. He draws his hands up and down Harry's body, purposely ignoring his hard-on. He relishes in the fact that this makes the brunette groan in protest.

Draco can hardly recall how the two were tossed into this mess in the first place. He only recalls their argument in Myrtle's bathroom – he'd been crying (he'd thought he was alone) when Harry had intruded. Draco had naturally cussed him out and pulled his wand on him. He'd never been more surprised when Harry'd dropped his wand and said that he knew what was really happening. The next thing he knew, they were joined at the mouths, and the next second, Harry was on his knees before him. How A led to B, he was unaware.

Harry is on his back, now, his tongue down Draco's throat, and he can't help thinking that it feels different from every other kiss of his life. It's not like Pansy's modest pecks or like Blaise's slutty open-mouthed necking or like snogging Aiden Pucey before Quidditch, but a blissful compilation of all of them.

They break apart and breathe heavily. Harry stares at him in absolute pleasure as Draco continues to thrust into him. The Slytherin closes his eyes.

He knows the day will come – and it will come soon – that this will have to end. They're almost finished their sixth year and they both know they won't be returning the following year. Now that he thinks of it, it should've never started in the first place. But somehow, he can't bring himself to regret anything.

Draco is always the first one to come. He does so presently, shuddering in ecstasy and losing control. He moans much too loudly for his liking, followed by Harry doing the same as he orgasms. Draco can't help but stare in desire as the other teenager throws his sweaty head back and involuntarily contracts his abs. His eyes roll back into his head and the blonde wonders if that's what he looked like only moments ago.

He feels godly when he realizes that it was _him_ that made Harry writhe like he did, moan like he had been. Sure, he'd done the same with both Parkinson and Zabini, but it was _different_. It always was.

The two lay in silence for a moment, both on the edge of sleep, when Harry replaces his glasses on his face, dresses and says a quiet 'see you around' before putting on his invisibility cloak and disappearing literally and metaphorically.

Draco draws the curtains on his four-poster shut. He immediately recounts the entire event in his mind like he always does, hoping not to catch a moment where he let something slip, hoping not to have shown Harry his weak side, even though to him, it's the only side he knows.

* * *

><p>AN: First HP fic... mixed feelings about it.


End file.
